


Resting Eyes and Chess Pieces

by knel03



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, Community Service, Cursed, Draco Malfoy On Probation, F/M, Healers, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Oneshot, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-War, St. Mungo's Healers (Harry Potter), death trope, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:00:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29793669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knel03/pseuds/knel03
Summary: Draco Malfoy is being forced to volunteer at St. Mungo's as his final act of service for the ministry. He had been given the choice of six months of Azkaban or one year of good deeds in the wizarding community. What he had been expecting at St. Mungo's included feeding the elderly, administering potions, and cleaning up nasty messes. What he hadn't been expecting was a certain snarky know-it-all with ridiculous hair to be there. He certainly hadn't expected to fall for her. And he just wished they had more time.Warning:This can be triggering. It has character death as well as implied self-harm. Please read with caution and be kind to yourself.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Resting Eyes and Chess Pieces

Finally. 

Ten months of ridiculous tasks had made Draco reach his limit. He was so tired of forcing a smile onto his face as he did the community service the ministry had forced upon him. He supposed it was better than Azkaban, but that didn't mean he had to like it. 

Only two months left. Two months and they would stop tracking his wand. Two months and he would finally be free again. 

But he knew it was going to be a long two months. _Merlin_ , he hated St. Mungo's. He had only been here twice when he was younger to visit his great grandmother who had developed dragon pox. He had hated it even then. The smell of sickly sweet potions filled the air, and the hallways always seemed far too small. It was always very dimly lit, giving it an eerie feel, and Draco doubted that much helped the grieving patients and visitors. 

He shudders as he enters through the front doors, all these past feelings rushing back. He wrinkles his nose at the familiar smell and strides over to the front desk where a young witch sits writing in a journal. She doesn't seem to notice his presence, so he raises an eyebrow and clears his throat expectantly. 

The girl's head shoots up with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Draco takes a moment to take in her appearance. Definitely young- eighteen maybe. Probably an intern, he would assume. She was averagely pretty in his eyes- blonde hair, green eyes, pale skin perfectly clear- not even a freckle in sight. Not quite Draco's type, but definitely easy on the eyes. 

He gives her a smirk when her skin flushes at his appraisal. 

"He-hello," she stutters softly. "How can I help you today?"

"I'm a new volunteer. Name should be under Malfoy," he says, waiting for the negative reaction.

The girl's eyes widen, and she quickly breaks eye contact, looking down at a stack of paperwork. "R-right. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Um, I'll just- just uh..." She trails off as she fumbles with the papers. 

Draco fights back the snort that is itching to be released at the witch's floundering. Sometimes he much preferred the hateful sneers over the stuttering messes at his presence. At least then, their actions told him exactly what they thought of him. They hated him, and that was fine by him. He was capable of returning that. Nervousness, however, irritated him. Was the person's clumsiness out of fear? Adrenaline? Respect?

Yeah, probably not respect, but there were still some sick freaks out there. 

Draco finally rolls his eyes after a moment. "You'll just?"

She snaps her head up again. "I'll just get the head witch. She knows more than me," she tells him, taking a stumbling step back. 

Draco scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest as he watches the blonde practically run out the door. He begins to tap his foot impatiently, waiting for someone to return for him. 

He's about to call it a day and take his leave when a plump woman marches her way out from where the younger girl had disappeared just minutes ago. He raises an eyebrow and uncrosses his arms, straightening as the witch stands in front of him. 

Her brown and grey hairs are tied back into a low bun, and all Draco can see is the top of her head, as she barely reaches his chest. She writes vigorously for a moment on the clipboard she's holding before finally looking up at him. 

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy. You'll be here for two months, yes?" She asks him. The tone she uses doesn't quite sound like a question though. He just nods with a raised brow. "Well, we have decided to place you in the curse ward for the time being. Really, all you'll be doing is keeping the common area clean, giving the patients some company, and distributing any potions or help the overseeing healer asks you to."

"What is the curse ward for exactly?" Draco asks, curious. 

"It's for patients that are recovering from long-term curses. Mostly witches and wizards that need serious healing over several sessions, or those that don't have any treatments, coming in for experimental magic," she replies quickly, still writing on her clipboard as if she doesn't have time for his questions. She glances up once at his silence. "Are you ready, then?"

Draco simply nods once again. 

***

It had only been an hour, and Draco wanted to rip his hair out. 

The first thing that set him off was the uniform. Instead of the pleasant cream that permanent healers wore, volunteers had to wear red. Bright, ugly, Gryffindor-red. Draco had to bite down harshly on his tongue to stop himself from arguing and screaming that he would rather go to Azkaban than wear the hideous color. 

The second task pushing him to his limit was that they immediately threw him into cleaning. A patient had just vomited some repulsive neon goo, and apparently, the healers thought that Draco would be the best person to deal with it. Not only that, but this particular curse was resistant to wand magic, and Draco was forced to clean it up on his hands and knees, using a rag and some foul-smelling potions. 

The final straw was the patient-mingling. 

The head healer let Draco know that this would be his primary job as a volunteer. He would mostly be giving all the patients some pleasant company while they sat around in the common area.

Currently, he was helping an elderly witch do a puzzle. She told him that she had been cursed with something slowly deteriorating her body and muscles to the point where her hands could barely move other than the frantic shaking. There was no cure for it.

He had decided to do the puzzle with her out of pity, but he regretted it now. He loathed puzzles. 

How he was supposed to do this every day for the next eight weeks, he had no idea. 

"You know what, love? I think I'm done for the day. Call my healer over for me, will you?" The woman asks softly, tucking her vibrating limbs into her lap. 

Draco nods before standing and walking quickly over to the male healer he had seen walk in with the elder earlier. Draco tells him that the woman is tired, and the healer eagerly makes his way over to help. Draco watches for a moment as the witch struggles to stand and he can't help the pang he feels in his chest for the poor old woman. 

He subtly shakes his head and begins to turn towards the head healer's desk when he catches a glimpse of wild curls standing in the doorway. Curls he knows. 

"Granger?" He asks in disbelief. 

His old classmate turns her head slowly to find the source of whoever called her name. Her eyes widen at the sight of Draco, mouth falling open slightly. 

The last time the two had seen each other had been at his trial, and before that, the final battle. 

Draco takes a moment to look her over. At first glance, she looked exactly the same. Her hair was far too big, looking almost like a nest. Her eyes were that beautiful caramel brown color, twinkling like they always did. Her skin was still golden, almost glimmering. 

But Draco did much more than just one glance. No, he let his eyes drink her in, inch by inch. That's the only reason he noticed the very subtle differences in her. 

Her hair, although just as big, has lost some of its shine. It looked dead almost. And yes, her eyes were still twinkling, but just beneath were purple lines so dark, it seemed like she hadn't slept in months.

And her skin. _Merlin_ , he hated her skin back in school. It was too perfect. She didn't deserve to have skin that looked so soft and delicate. He had just wanted to run his hands and mouth over every bit of it. 

Now, though. Now it looked papery. Stuck to the bone. 

He still wanted to feel it. 

Hermione straightens slightly from her hunched stance and looks him dead in the eyes. "Malfoy."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Still the same Hermione Granger personality-wise. "Just as pleasant as I remember, I see," Draco says with a smirk. 

"Still as sarcastic, I see," Hermione says, crossing her thin arms over her chest. 

Draco's smirk widens into a grin. "Good one, Granger."

She lets out a puff of air and rolls her eyes. "What are you doing here? Come to feed on the poor, sick souls, Malfoy?" 

"Oh, no, no. That's just a weekend job. I'm here to punch old ladies. It is Monday, right?" He asks, tone laced with fake concern. 

Draco watches as one corner of Hermione's lips quirks up. His chest blooms in triumph at the sight. 

"Well, please continue. I would hate to interrupt," Hermione says with a wave of her hand. 

"How kind of you."

"You know, Malfoy," Hermione starts again, smirk starting to grace her own lips. "Gryffindor red really doesn't suit you, unfortunately."

Draco groans and looks down at his uniform in disgust. "Don't even get me started on this monstrosity, Granger."

Hermione snorts and shakes her head. She opens her mouth to reply when a healer comes out from the private office area. 

"Good afternoon, Hermione! Are you ready?" The healer asks with a pleasant smile. 

All amusement drops from Hermione's face and Draco can actually see the twinkling fade from her eyes. 

"Sure, Nadia. I'll be there in a moment," she says, trying, and failing, to put a smile on her face. 

The healer, Nadia, gives Hermione a look of pity before nodding and going back to where she came from. 

Draco's entire face is scrunched up in confusion by the time the interaction ends. He turns to look at the Gryffindor in front of him, but she refuses to meet his eyes. 

"If you'll excuse me," Hermione says softly, following the other witch. 

"Granger-" Draco tries to get her attention, but she's already gone through the large door. 

Draco lets out a breath of disappointment and leans his elbows on the front desk for a moment. 

Odd. She was fine just a moment ago, joking with him, even. Where did that healer even take her? Something interesting finally happens in this horrid place, and it's already gone. 

He walks over to the bookshelf in the corner of the room right next to a cozy reading nook. He glances around, making sure there was nothing he really needed to do. Satisfied with the calm of the ward, Draco picks a small black novel and settles himself down in a comfortable chair, crossing one leg over the other. 

He's utterly engrossed in the book for maybe half an hour when he finally hears some movement from the private area that Hermione had disappeared into. 

He watches as Hermione leaves the room with a frown, gently rubbing circles into her chest, wincing every once in a while. She makes her way over to the chess table on the opposite side of the room but doesn't sit down. She just keeps one hand on her chest, still massaging it, and the other hand picks up the pieces and straightens them into very even, organized lines. 

Deciding that watching her from a distance is probably creepy, Draco sets his book down and carefully makes his way over to the chess table to join his ex-classmate. 

Hermione looks up upon hearing him approach and keeps her face blank. "Hello, Malfoy. Punch any old ladies?"

Draco snorts and shakes his head. He watches Hermione's mouth quirk up into a half-smile before she looks back down at the chessboard. "Unfortunately, there have been no old ladies available today. I'm free the rest of the evening."

Hermione glances up at those words and regards him thoughtfully. "Free enough for a game of chess?"

Draco lets a smile creep onto his face. "I suppose so." 

***

She won. Of course. 

Their first game lasted maybe an hour. Draco had thought he was doing really well and the smirk on his face only widened after every move, confident that he would beat Granger very easily. 

Hermione, however, kept her face carefully blank, never giving away just how good she was at this game. She would make an outlandish move before looking up at Draco and giving him a small smile. 

It wasn't until she suddenly called "checkmate" that Draco's cocky smirk dropped and he realized that she totally played him.

The next game he took much more seriously.

He still lost.

They were now in their third hour of playing chess and Draco had otherwise accepted his fate as a loser, though he would never admit it. They hadn't been talking much and Draco realized that he had a lot of questions for the witch.

"Why are you here? Playing chess, I mean. I assume you work here so why aren't you doing healer things?" Draco asks finally.

Hermione makes her move and Draco narrows his eyes at it, trying to figure her strategy.

"Oh, I don't work here," she replies.

Draco looks up again, hand frozen in the air with his pawn clutched between his fingertips.

Seeing his confused face, Hermione lets out a soft sigh. "I'm a patient."

Draco remains frozen. A patient. She's been cursed. And she has to come to the curse ward. That doesn't make any sense. She looks fine- a little tired maybe, but fine. No shaking hands or deteriorating muscles.

"A patient? You've been cursed?" Draco asks, staring down at the chessboard, not willing to make eye contact.

He sees Hermione nod from his peripheral and inhales deeply.

"How? When?" He finally looks up to see her giving him a sad smile.

"The final battle. When I was first hit, I didn't even realize it. The symptoms didn't show up for months," she explains simply.

How can she be so calm about this? That was over a year ago! Why isn't she healed yet?

"Are you okay?" Draco hears himself asking.

"I'm..." Hermione trails off, suddenly looking unsure. "I'm being treated."

Draco lets out a sigh of relief at those words. She's fine, then. Not that he really cares, of course.

"Checkmate, by the way."

Draco snaps his head up after being lost in his own thoughts to see Hermione giving him a glowing smile. He hated himself for the way his body warmed from head to toe at the expression. 

He narrows his eyes at her and leans forward a bit. "You're cheating," he accuses. 

Hermione gives him an offended look. "I most certainly am not."

"How else could you be beating me?"

Hermione scoffs. "Maybe because you aren't as good as you think you are, Malfoy."

Draco pretends to think her response over, looking exaggeratedly at the ceiling and scratching his chin. "No, that can't possibly be it."

Hermione snorts, but he can see her mouth quirking up into a slight smile. 

They sit in silence for a moment, both sporting easy smiles as Draco resets the board. He can feel Hermione's eyes on him, and everywhere they linger is like a fire alight on his skin. He looks up once he's finished to see her still staring, eyes regarding him thoughtfully. 

"What?" He finally asks. 

She shakes her head. "Nothing. Just... you seem different."

"Different?" Draco questions with furrowed brows. 

"Yeah. You seem more relaxed now than when we went to school. Not really cruel or uptight either. You seem... happy." She explains, making her first move of the new game. 

Draco goes over her words in his mind while he watches her delicate movements. 

"Well, I suppose when you don't have a homicidal freak controlling your life and being your roommate, you have more time to relax. I also gave up on prejudices long ago. I can't tell you a specific time when I finally stopped caring. Maybe when I was forced to let the death eaters into Hogwarts, and I realized I didn't want anyone to die- muggleborn or not. Without those things consuming me, I feel free. I seem happy because I think I finally am," he tells her, refusing to make eye contact. 

Again, silence fills the space between them. It isn't awkward, but it isn't comfortable either. It's just a piece of time they both use to think about what was just shared between the two. 

Draco jumps as he feels cold fingers lightly cover his clenched fist atop the table. He glances up to see Hermione giving him a smile. It isn't sad or pitying as he expected- no, it's a smile of understanding. And it makes his heart clench with an unknown feeling. 

"I like happy Draco much more than Hogwarts Draco."

The clenching of his heart squeezes even more to the point of being almost painful. It steals his breath from his lungs and makes his palms sweat. He doesn't even know where to begin with a response. He struggles for a moment, just staring into her beautiful, kind eyes. 

"Me too."

***

They spend every day for the next two weeks meeting to play chess and sometimes open up into more meaningful conversations whenever she comes in for her treatments, and Draco finds himself looking forward to it more every day. 

Today, Draco walks in expecting to see Hermione at the usual spot for the two of them at the chess table.

He wanted to hex himself for allowing any kind of positive emotions towards Granger to spring up, but here he was excitedly searching the room for her. 

He finally sees her sitting on a comfortable-looking armchair next to a large bookcase. He watches for a moment and appreciates how alive she looks while reading. Her eyes fly across the page as if she just can’t read fast enough. A very subtle smile graces her pretty lips, and her hands grip the edges of the book tightly. 

Draco casually approaches her and stands right in front of her seat. He expects her to sense his presence, but she stays totally engrossed in her book. He lightly clears his throat to get her attention, and she jumps in surprise, staring up at him with wide, innocent eyes. 

“Oh. Hi,” she says with a shy smile, setting the book down in her lap. 

“Sorry to interrupt.” He wasn’t sorry at all. “I can leave you to your reading if you’d like.” He tells her, taking a very small step back. 

“No!” She reaches out and grabs his hand. Draco stifles a gasp at the feeling of her skin on his own. Her fingers are freezing, but he finds he doesn’t mind. The heat from just being touched by her is enough to warm his entire body. 

Hermione looks down at their hands and slowly lets go. “Sorry,” she murmurs, looking down. “I just mean that I don’t need to read anymore. I was getting bored anyway.”

Draco raises a brow at the lie but doesn’t question it if it means she’s willing to spend time with him instead. “Chess, then?”

Hermione simply nods and stands quickly before gasping and losing her balance. Draco quickly grabs her waist to steady her.

He eyes her for a moment with concern. She keeps her eyes closed and fingers gripping his shoulders tightly. 

"Granger? Do I need to get Nadia? She's your full-time healer, right?" He asks, panic starting to seize him. 

She gently shakes her head and blinks a few times before fully opening her eyes to meet his own. "No, I'm okay. It happens."

"This happens often?" He continues to question her, hands never releasing from the tight grip they have on her hips. 

"Side-effect of the last treatment."

Draco doesn't get a chance to reply as Nadia comes up to the two, eyeing their very close positions. 

"Hermione? Everything okay?" She asks. 

Hermione lets go of Draco to turn to her healer, and Draco reluctantly releases her hips but leaves a hand on the small of her back. Just to steady her, of course.

"I was just feeling a little light-headed. Luckily, Draco was here to catch me," Hermione answers, and Draco tries hard not to focus on the way she says his first name. 

"As long as you're sure," Nadia says, trailing off to eye Draco warily. "Anyway, Harry just owled. He wants to know how long your check-up is going to last," she continues, emphasizing her sarcasm on the word "check-up." 

Draco's brows furrow and he watches as Hermione nervously chews on her bottom lip. 

"Oh. Just tell him I can meet him at Grimmauld Place in an hour or so," she says at last. 

"Hermione. You know you need to stay longer than that," Nadia reminds her patient sternly. 

"I'm fine, Nadia. Would you still like to play a game of chess before I have to go?" Hermione turns and directs the question at Draco. 

He stares at her for a moment, mind racing faster than he can even process, before he simply nods and gently leads her over to their table. 

He hears Nadia scoff and mumble something under her breath before returning to her office. He helps Hermione sit down and settle herself before making his way over to his own chair. 

“Your friends don’t know you’re sick?” Draco asks as he takes a seat, no longer able to contain the question. 

Hermione shakes her head. “Of course they know. They just don’t know how sick.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Over the last two weeks, they made sure to avoid the topic of her curse. He never asked what it was. 

She simply sighs and gives him a sad smile. “I’m dying.” 

Draco’s heart stops. The breath disappears from his lungs. His ears start to ring, and his eyes glaze over. 

Dying. 

The word repeats over and over again in his head. 

She’s dying. 

That’s not right. She can’t be dying. Hermione Granger has big plans for her life. Hermione Granger is going to make the world a better place. She talked about it over and over again in school. 

She can’t die. 

It’s not fair. 

“No. No, you’re being treated. You aren’t dying, Granger,” he scoffs at her. 

Hermione keeps the same sad smile on her lips and tilts her head slightly to the side. “That’s what my curse is. It isn’t curable or even really treatable. It isn’t painful or anything. Just exhausting.”

“What does it do?” He asks quietly, scared his voice will crack if he raises his volume. 

“What does what do?” She asks, confusion lacing her tone. 

“The curse, Granger.”

“Oh. It’s draining my magical core. Slowly, for a year now. Like I said, it isn’t painful, just really tiring.” 

Dying. 

The word is a screaming loop inside of his head.

"Malfoy?" 

He refocuses his eyes and stares at the beautiful witch in front of him. She's watching him with concern in her eyes. 

Draco almost laughs at how ironic it is that the one apparently dying is the one showing the concern. 

It makes him sick. And angry. 

He isn't angry at her, of course. He doesn't know if she could ever be on the receiving end of his anger anymore. No, he's angry at everything else. The world, the gods, the fucker that cursed her. 

Himself. 

Merlin, he's mad at himself for caring so much. 

"Draco."

"Yes?"

She frowns at him. "What's wrong?"

"How are you so calm?" He finally asks the question that was scratching at his throat to be let free. 

Hermione sighs and slowly slides her hand across the table to meet his own. Her fingers gently skim over his knuckles before fully encompassing his fist with her much smaller palm.

He watches, mesmerized, as his entire arm tingles at the feel of her touch. 

"I've accepted it. I'm at peace with it all. I've made sure that I will never feel as though my life is incomplete when I go. Of course, I was angry at first. And scared. And I'm not giving up on living. I still fight every day for my life. That's why I come and get these treatments. But because I know that the possibility of staring death in the eyes is always there, I've decided to find peace and live my life the best way I can. Take risks and just live instead of simply existing." 

Draco decides right then and there that Hermione Granger is the bravest person he has ever met. 

He flips his hand over so her palm rests upon the skin of his own. He holds it there for a moment, enjoying it. Then he curls his fingers underneath hers and grips her fingertips before lifting her cold, soft skin to his lips. He shuts his eyes and lets his mouth simply rest there, feeling Hermione's heartbeat start to pulse much faster. 

Slowly, he brings their hands back down to the table, keeping them intertwined, before meeting Hermione's eyes. 

She's staring at him with a dropped jaw and an unreadable expression in her eyes. He enjoys the shock on her face maybe too much. 

"Am I a risk, Granger?" He asks in a low voice. 

Hermione swallows thickly and glances down at their hands before making eye contact again. 

"The biggest one that I'm willing to take."

***

Hermione didn't show up at St. Mungo's the next day. 

Draco had to rush to the restroom and be sick before beginning his daily duties. 

No one had known where she was. She hadn't owled. She wasn't in the daily prophet. 

If anything had happened to her while she was supposed to be with Potter, Draco would gladly go to Azkaban for the murder of the-boy-who-lived-too-many-times. 

He realized how silly he had been the following afternoon when she showed up for her treatment, looking just like the Granger he knew and-

Not important. He was just relieved that he didn't need to have blood on his hands yet. 

"Where were you yesterday?" He asks, trying to play it off as mild curiosity. 

She simply smiles brightly at him. "I was hungover and needed the day to myself." 

Draco's jaw drops at her words. " _Hungover_? You, Hermione Granger, were hungover?" 

She snorts at his shocked expression. "I'm not a child, Malfoy. Everyone likes Firewhiskey from time to time." 

"Who _are_ you?" 

Again, she laughs at him before bidding him goodbye for the hour needed for her treatment. 

They were now sitting at their table, playing their daily game of chess. He thinks that he's doing well- better than usual, actually- but he guarantees that she will still find a way to win. 

Draco looks up from the board after his move to see Hermione leaning back in her chair with her eyes closed lightly. Draco’s heart stutters in his chest for a moment at her complete stillness. “Granger?” He asks in worry. 

Her lips quirk up in a half-smile, but her eyes remain closed. “I’m just resting my eyes, Malfoy.” 

“You looked…” Draco trails off and clears his suddenly tight throat. 

Hermione’s eyes slowly blink open again and she looks at him for a moment. “Dead? It’s okay. It’s not a dirty word.”

Draco winces at how easily she’s able to say it. “Yeah, well, excuse me for trying to be situation-sensitive, Granger.”

She laughs softly at him and begins her move. “I just get tired,” she explains. “Every once in a while, I need to close my eyes for a minute to keep from getting dizzy. I’m fine.”

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Hermione looks up at him through her lashes. Apparently, she sees something in his expression that he didn't realize was there because her eyes suddenly fill with warmth, and she gives him a beautiful smile, cheeks beginning to flush. 

He watches with furrowed brows as she leans all the way back in her chair. 

"Do you want to come to my flat tonight?"

Draco forgets how to breathe. 

"Your- your flat? You want me to come to your flat? Tonight?" Was the common area getting hot?

Hermione's smile transforms to a wide grin at his stuttering. "Sure. We'll have dinner if you'd like." 

"O-okay." Merlin, the stuttering was getting old. He felt like a little fourth year watching Hermione at the Yule Ball all over again. 

"I'll owl you my address. Wear whatever you want, nothing formal."

He just nods again before returning to their game, head full of possibilities for the night. 

***

Draco felt incredibly stupid. 

He's standing outside the door to her flat, dressed in a black Oxford shirt, top three buttons undone with some plain black trousers. At least Hermione would finally get to see him in something other than that hideous red uniform. 

Even though he's well-dressed and confident he looks good, he still feels like an idiot. His palms are ridiculously sweaty and his heart is pounding so hard, he's sure it's visible through his chest. 

He's been trying to knock on the door for the past five minutes, and he swears Theo's voice is in his head, telling him to stop being a Hufflepuff and just knock. 

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he raises his fist to the wooden door and taps it a few times before taking a step back and opening his eyes to wait. 

Not even twenty seconds later, the door is swinging open to reveal a stunning Hermione Granger. 

Draco's eyes cover every last inch of her person. She's wearing a silky, ruby-colored dress, slightly clinging to the curves he never knew she had, hem reaching just above her knee. His eyes trail over her long, golden legs down to her feet covered in short, black heels. He glides back up to her face, taking in the way she had very light makeup and her hair pulled back in a low bun, curly tendrils carefully framing her face. 

He finally meets her eyes and sees the way she was taking in his own appearance. She matches his gaze with a fiery expression as she smiles at him. 

"Hi," she says, almost sounding breathless. 

"Hello," he replies, his own voice sounding raspy. 

"Please, come in."

Draco steps through the door past her, subtly taking a breath to smell her sweet perfume. He stands in the hallway as she closes the door behind them. He looks around her flat as she guides them down the hall to her living area. 

"Would you liked something to drink?" 

"Sure." 

He sits down on her cream sofa and glances at the pictures hanging on her walls. They're all of the Golden Trio and the Weasels smiling happily at the camera. He hopes one day he'll make it onto her wall. 

He turns to his left at the sound of her heels clicking on the ground. He watches as she glides over to him and sits down, knee touching his own, before handing him a glass of what seems to be Firewhiskey. He takes a sip as Hermione begins to speak. 

"I hope it's okay to have drinks first. I know we said dinner, but I couldn't figure out what to wear and what to cook and it was very last minute. I have something cooking now, but it won't be ready for a bit. I figured we could just drink first like a cocktail hour- that's a muggle thing- before eating. I hope you like Firewhiskey. If not, I have muggle wine that's more for when my parents visit. I also have-"

Draco cuts off her endearing rambling with a harsh kiss. His entire body turns to fire at the feels of her lips on his own. She gasps and he uses the opportunity to try to gain entrance to her mouth. She finally begins to respond with as much passion as he's giving her. 

It had all just been too much- the dress, the perfume, the worrying what he thought. He just couldn't take it anymore. He had to _do_ something. 

He runs one hand up the soft skin of her thigh where her dress had ridden up, and the other reaches up to take her hair out from its bun. 

He vaguely registers her glass clinking on the coffee table before her own cold hands are running up his chest and beginning to undo the buttons of his Oxford. 

Draco freezes at the feel of her fingers gliding over the raised scars on his bare skin. 

He pulls away from Hermione's lips and grabs one of her wrists. "Wait. We don't have to. I didn't come here for this."

Hermione looks at him with nervous eyes and bites her lip. He resists the urge to bite it himself. 

"You don't want to?"

Draco's eyes widen. "Oh, no, Granger. I do. _Merlin_ , I do. I just don't want you to think that's all I want." 

She furrows her brows. "I know that's not all you want. I wouldn't have invited you here if I thought otherwise."

"Oh."

"Draco..." She begins trailing her hands lower down his chest and his breath hitches as she reaches the top of his trousers. She looks up at him through her lashes, biting her lip once again. "Can I show you my room?"

As if he could ever say no to that. 

The hallway leading to her bedroom was just a trail of clothing items littered onto the floor as they walked and touched. 

When they finally reached her bed, all they had left were their underclothes. He gently lays her down on the plush mattress, leaning over her, but releasing her lips long enough to take a good look at the body below him. 

“Merlin, you’re beautiful. Your scars are beautiful,” he says, accentuating the fact by placing his warm lips on the deceivingly delicate skin between her breasts where her evil firework-shaped curse lies. He starts to trail his mouth back up to her throat when he’s frozen by her next words. 

“So are yours.”

He barely turns his head to watch as Hermione trails her hand from its place on his shoulder, down his arm, stopping at the rough skin of his left wrist. She uses one hand to rub circles on the faded dark mark that is now covered by small, thin scars- cuts he left himself that were once deep enough to leave his skin marred forever by something other than the dark mark. 

The other hand she uses to softly grasp his chin and force him to look at her. His heart lurches at the overwhelming kindness in her eyes, and he instinctively squeezes his eyes closed. 

“Those aren’t beautiful, Granger,” he says in a thick voice. 

“Draco, open your eyes.”

He hesitates, but ultimately does what he’s told. She’s staring at him with a stern expression. 

“They are beautiful. They show how you’ve overcome what happened to you. They show your past and what you’ve done for yourself in the future. They show that you aren’t who you used to be. They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

Overwhelmed by the emotion filling him, Draco takes a deep breath, eyes never leaving the golden ones under him. He does the one thing he knows he can to express how he feels without using words. 

He kisses her. Hard.

The night was full of overwhelming feelings. Feelings he wasn't sure how to deal with. From her caring, gentle eyes to her impossibly warm body, Draco was filled with emotions he had never before felt in his life. 

Several times in her golden sheets, they met in a way that you wouldn't know where one body started and the other ended. He pleasured her with his mouth twice before focusing at all on himself. 

Just watching her face as he thrusted into her was enough to push him over the edge. 

Now, he had her back tucked tightly into his front, left arm curled protectively over her stomach. Always used to the shockingly cold feeling of her fingertips, he was surprised by how warm they were as they traced every scar covering his wrist. 

"Draco, I need you to know something."

Draco pauses his circles on her lower belly at her words, panic beginning to overtake him. Had he done something wrong?

"Okay."

"I need you to know that I don't hate you."

Time freezes. 

Draco doesn't know how, but she managed to manipulate time to freeze him in this exact moment. 

His mind races with memories of "big teeth" and "know-it-all" and "mudblood." The last not coming from just his mouth, but from her own blood seeping out of her arm. 

Hermione turns over at his silence, but he refuses to meet her eyes. 

"I don't, Draco."

"You should," he whispers. 

Her hand slides up to palm his cheek, rubbing her thumb over his still-flushed skin. 

"I _don't_. And I just _need_ you to know," she says, almost sounding desperate. 

He finally meets her eyes, seeing her own serious ones, reminding him of her prefect days. 

"I'm sorry." His voice cracks and he squeezes his eyes shut to fight back the hot tears building. Hot, angry tears at what he put her through. 

"I know. And I forgive you. I've found my peace, and I want you to find your own," she tells him, her own voice dropping to a soft whisper. 

Unable to fight them anymore, Draco dips his head into the space between her neck and shoulder as salty tears roll onto her skin. She simply holds him tightly against her body as he sobs, gently petting his head and telling him it was all okay. 

They fall asleep that way, and Draco hadn't realized that he felt like he was drowning all these years. 

After tonight, he could finally _breathe_. 

***

Draco had gone home the following morning as they both had prior engagements, but they shared a sweet kiss and a promise to see each other at St. Mungo's the next week. 

They owled each other several times during the two days apart, and she let him know that she would be waiting for him at the front desk by the time he got there to sign in. 

He walked in with a wide smile that quickly turned to a frown at the sight of no Hermione waiting for him. Recognizing Nadia's blonde hair, he walks up to her, not bothering to sign in. 

Her eyes widen at the sight of him, and she immediately goes to stand in front of the doorway to the common area. 

“Nadia? Where’s Granger?” Draco asks in confusion as he tries to get past the healer. 

“Draco.” 

“What are you doing? Let me through,” he says, starting to get irritated at being held back. 

“Draco! Just stay here, please,” she practically begs. 

“Enough! I just want to see her. What is going on?” He finally pushes past the surprisingly strong witch and makes his way out to the now-familiar common area. 

He and Hermione were going to play a big tournament today. She had owled him about it and, he was determined to finally win. 

His smile is genuine as he walks over to the chess table. It falters slightly when he sees that she isn’t there either. 

He glances to his left to see a large crowd of healers surrounding the reading nook. Hermione’s favorite chair, actually. 

His heart starts to pound as his feet guide him over to the horde. He pushes his way through easily until he reaches the front of the group. 

Right there in her favorite chair is Hermione. 

Her eyes are closed, soft smile in place as always. She’s incredibly still, but Draco just shakes his head. 

“What are you all so freaked out about? She’s just resting her eyes,” he tells the healers with a roll of his eyes. 

No one says anything as Draco crouches down in front of her and grabs her hand. It’s soft and cold. Slightly colder than usual, but he thinks nothing of it as he rubs his thumb over her knuckles. 

“Granger, you’re worrying everyone. Open your eyes.”

She doesn’t stir. 

“Granger.”

Nothing. 

He begins to shake the hand he’s holding. “Granger. Wake up.”

He feels a hand on his shoulder, but he shakes it off. 

“Hermione.”

Silence. 

“Hermione, please! Wake up!” He can hear his own voice cracking as his voice starts to get louder. 

“Come on, Mr. Malfoy. It’s alright. We need to get to Hermione, please.” 

He hears the voices surrounding him, but all he can focus on is how Hermione isn’t gripping his hand back. How she isn’t popping her eyes open and telling him to relax. How she isn’t telling everyone to back off. How they probably aren’t going to be playing chess today. How she more than likely didn’t get to finish the book that’s sitting in her lap. 

How their one night wasn’t enough. 

How he didn’t tell her that he loves her. 

How he didn’t get to say goodbye.

How they deserve just a little more time.

He sits at their chess table for almost an hour in silence. 

He thinks someone tried to come get him, but he told them he was waiting. 

Waiting for her to open her eyes. Waiting for her to come sit down and make her first move of the game she’ll inevitably win. 

He listens as Nadia sits across from him and explains that she had gone peacefully. She had probably just thought she was resting her eyes. 

As if that was supposed to make Draco feel better. 

She had closed her eyes expecting to open them again. That isn’t peace. It’s robbery. 

People say that the Cruciatus is one of the most painful things any living thing could experience. 

Obviously, they had never been in love with Hermione Granger. 

He had been _Crucio_ ’d before. And by his own aunt, of all people. But that had nothing on the excruciating pain he felt as the reality of it all finally sunk in. 

It was as if the fire from a Cruciatus curse had bypassed his body and went straight for his heart, squeezing his chest so hard that he couldn’t breathe. 

Right as he remembered how to again. 

***

He wrinkles his nose in disgust at the smell of St. Mungo’s. Foul potions, lingering spells, death. That’s all it is to Draco now. 

He couldn’t remember when he had stopped being disgusted by the building in the first place. He had hated it, then he couldn’t wait to come back, and now he wanted it to burn. 

He sets the quill down after his last sign-in. Nine days since her ceremony. Twelve since she left. His last day before he was free to do as he pleased.

Except Draco would never be free. He went from one jail to another. He would take Azkaban for the rest of his life over the pain he feels without her. 

He goes about his duties for the day, avoiding the patient-mingling this time. He gives out potions, cleans up messes, and sits in silence. As the day draws slowly to an end, Draco can’t decide how he feels about the last few months. 

His head is just a swirl of emotions as he walks to the front desk once again, until he gets to the table. Their table. 

Empty. That’s the only word that accurately describes what he feels as he walks past that chessboard for the final time. He can’t pinpoint a singular emotion. It’s just…

Empty. Void. Missing. Wrong.

He swears he can smell her perfume in the air. Her gentle laugh floats by him along with it. One last look back at the black and white pieces, and he imagines her delicate hand completing her winning move. 

His eyes squeeze shut and he looks away. 

There’s that nasty emotion again. Grief. 

He thinks he prefers the emptiness. 

He thinks chess will forever be his own personal curse.

He never did win a game.


End file.
